


Case 26: A Great Little Adventure (1881)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [35]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Cruelty, Deception, Destiel - Freeform, Eunuchs, Happy Ending, Inheritance, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Mailcoaches, Prostitution, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-08-08 01:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Holmes' half-brother Mr. Campbell Kerr has a favour to ask concerning Mr. Anthony 'Tiny' Little, whose services he may stand to lose thanks to an unfortunate and unwanted inheritance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookworm4ever81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm4ever81/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

If I had been possessed of a pair of decent running shoes, I might well have succumbed to temptation and openly called Watson either 'cute and/or 'adorable' when he pouted like that. He was still sore after I had had two of my half-brother's boys 'ambush' him in the recent case concerning Doctor Adams and the 'love-potion', and every time I looked like mentioning it he would pout so damn ado..... 

No. Besides, he always knew when I was thinking of saying one or both of those words, and pouted even more as a result.

It was perhaps unfortunate, for Watson at least, that the mischievous Fates caused the great Mr. Little to be central to our next investigation. He and Campbell came round the day after May Day and a certain doctor pouted even more adorably at my friendly greeting to the pair of them. Worse for him he could not even say anything; Tiny (I still had to smile at the idea of the seven-foot behemoth beside him being called by such a name) could pull one of the worst 'woe is me' faces that had anyone giving in to him on whatever he wanted, although being seven foot tall that usually happened pretty much anyway. And unlike so many tall people he was quite solid and muscular; my brother Luke used his services and I always knew when that had happened by someone's very careful walking when we met at the gymnasium afterwards.

“I am hoping that you can ride to the rescue for Tiny here”, Campbell said. “There is every chance that we might lose him.”

“How is that?” I asked. “I thought you were happy here, Tiny?”

As ever he took a little time to formulate an answer. He was actually very learnéd but found long sentences and conversations in particular trying. Although in his line of business I very much doubted that was not really a problem.

“My father has the right to run mail-coaches through Lambourn in Berkshire, sirs”, he said. “But he is ailing and wishes me to take over the company.”

“Surely that is not much of a long-term business?” Watson asked.

He was right of course; the railways were advancing everywhere. And who would use an uncomfortable stagecoach or mail-coach when one could get to one's destination by a mode of transport that was at least four times faster, infinitely more comfortable _and_ much cheaper?

“Little's runs coaches from the town of Lambourn in all directions”, Campbell explained, “north-west to Swindon, south-east to Newbury and north-east to Wantage and its station. They used to run mail-coaches as well but now it all goes in the single coach, such is the decline even with the railways only running around the area. There have already been plans to connect Lambourn to the railway network at Newbury, which is the only route on which they make money for now. Such a line would ruin them.”

I looked hard at my half-brother and he understood me. We could both see that Tiny was working at getting another sentence out and we needed to wait for that.

“My father”, he said hesitatingly, “he... he is not a good man.”

I was impressed that in so few words he could utterly condemn someone like that. If Mr. Anthony Little described someone as 'not a good man', then they were likely the devil incarnate. And I knew that despite the man's size he really was the most gentle of creatures; my brother Luke often spoke of him particularly fondly which was unusual for someone he employed for.... that.

I had a thought.

“Do you have any other brothers or sisters, Tiny?” I asked. He shook his head.

“There is the Snitch”, Campbell said.

Watson and I both looked at him. I noticed how Tiny had reddened at that name.

“Who is that?” Watson asked.

“His cousin Sly - Sylvester”, Campbell said. “Horrible little worm; Tiny asked me to go with him the one time he came to London. I have seen all sorts of low-life in my profession but my fists itched to slap him one, especially the way that he spoke to Tiny.”

“Do you believe that he would wish to inherit the estate, Tiny?” I asked. The behemoth shook his head.

“He cannot do that”, Campbell said. “The estate belonged to Tiny's mother, and although she married his father at a time when the law still generally mandated that a wife's property becomes that of her husband, she herself had inherited it on condition that it remain in her own family until a direct male descendant of the original fellow who got it back in the Civil War days wanted or needed to sell it. His father can live there but cannot sell the place, although I doubt it is that profitable what with the way land is these days. The coaching business is all that is keeping it afloat just now, and if this railway ever does materialize then that will be that.”

“She is passed?” Watson asked.

“She left him once Tiny came to London”, Campbell said. “She lives in Newbury now; he is proving difficult about the divorce for obvious reasons but – and I know I should not use the f-word - fortunately he is dying. He hates Tiny with a passion so he is no great loss to humanity.”

I thought for some moments then turned to Tiny.

“Is your father aware of what you do for a living?” I asked carefully. 

He smiled at my choice of words.

“My cousin has made sure of that, sirs!” he said forcibly.

“Then your father is doing this out of spite”, I said crossly, “merely to inconvenience someone that he does not wish to leave his estate to. Clearly he must be dissuaded from such a course of action.”

Even without saying it the look on Tiny's face was one of utter incredulity. But then he did not know just _how_ I intended to go about that persuasion.

֍


	2. Chapter 2

Only a few days later and there were three of us at Paddington Station awaiting a train to Reading where we would have to change for the line to Newbury and thence the coach to Lambourn. I had planned to bring Tiny along with me but the look of horror when I had suggested it had caused me to make a last-minute change, and I had promised him that we would drop him off at his mother's house when we reached Newbury. Campbell demurred at it but I insisted on paying him for a full day of his 'services'; I knew that he needed the money despite his being one of the few 'boys to live in as his huge bulk served as security against the occasional difficult client. The look of gratitude on his face when I promised him I would help resolve matters for him without his having to go to his father's house in person and he hugged me impulsively – it was up there with Watson's Utterly Adorable Non-Pout of Displeasure! It was also worth not being able to breathe for several seconds.

We said goodbye to the giant outside Newbury Station and boarded the mail-coach. The Lambourn Valley was a beautiful area, although the uncomfortable journey by coach reminded me of why the railways were superior in every way. Hopefully the town would get its railway and prosper, but I had felt that we could hardly approach Mr. Philip Little for what I had in mind without first sampling the 'joys' of his transport network. Although judging from poor Watson's slightly green complexion we were most definitely returning by carriage!

Sutton House lay on the southern outskirts of the pleasant market town, and we were duly received by Tiny's father. I could see why the gentle giant had been afraid of him; he was clearly one of those short bullying types who only gained joy from someone else's misery. Which made what was about to befall him even more fitting. I exchanged a quick look with Watson and he nodded at me. The fellow before us was indeed not long for this world, and as I had already decided that was in no way a bad thing given his character. I pointedly waited for the servants to withdraw before I began.

“My name is Mr. Sherlock Holmes”, I said, “and this is my colleague Doctor Watson. We are representing a certain gentleman who, for reasons that will soon become clear to you, wishes to remain anonymous.”

He was clearly suspicious of that, as would I have been. I hurried on.

“I can however tell you that he is a ruler of one of the small but strategically important Arabian states on the southern shores of the Persian Gulf”, I said. “To be blunt, he is not someone that the British government wishes to annoy in any way, especially given the precarious situation as regards the Ottoman Empire just now. He has however made a request which even the prime minister has felt to be, ahem, somewhat questionable, which has brought me here today as a matter of urgency. I only wish I could have had more time to make my inquiries, but the gentleman is leaving our shores first thing tomorrow morning and..... not to put too fine a point on it, he wishes to take something back home with him.”

Mr. Little was still looking at me suspiciously.

“What has this to do with me, sir?” he demanded.

“The item that he wishes to take with him is your son, Anthony”, I said.

I could read him like an unpleasant book; surprise, uncertainty and then seeing the chance to rid himself of someone he did not like at all. I thought of the happiness on the giant's face as we had seen him off to his mother's house; he deserved much better than this excrescence before us.

“What is in it for me?” he demanded.

I managed to not feign surprise, although Watson really did not need to cough like that.

“The gentleman is not the sort who is accustomed to people saying no”, I said carefully, “especially as in his homeland he can simply have them beheaded for so doing. As a result very few say no to him. He has not of course approached your son as of yet....”

“And what does he want with the useless lummocks anyway?” Mr. Little demanded.

“He needs another eunuch.”

Mr. Little coughed violently into his drink. _That_ had surprised him all right!

 _What?”_ he demanded.

“Someone to supervise all those wives”, I said. “Putting it as delicately as possible, your son's.... proclivities make it unlikely that he would be interested in any of them himself, although my client has said that if he ever did..... well, it is never too late to go and castrate, as the music-hall song goes.”

The cruel light in the fellow's eyes was sickening. Time to move in for the kill.

“The problem however”, I said, “is his inheritance.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Little asked.

“When you pass, this estate becomes the property of your son”, I said. “You know how the newspapers are in this country; someone is bound to talk and they will track him down which will cause a most tiresome diplomatic incident. The government would not be pleased, to put it mildly. Unless of course he is prevented from inheriting.”

“I tried that”, Mr. Little said sourly. “Lawyers told me the damn will was watertight, worse luck.”

“I know”, I said. “Fortunately in the short time that I had to plan this visit I was able to institute some inquiries into your family, and they came up with a potential way out.”

He looked at me curiously.

“What way out?” he asked. 

“The estate was originally given by King Charles the Second to your ancestor Mr. Adonijah Little in the year 1661”, I said. “His eldest son Elisha married a Scotswoman and went to live with her in her homeland, to Mr. Adonijah's grave displeasure, so he added a clause to the inheritance rules that if someone inherited and then left the country, the estate would revert to the next in line.”

“Smart fellow”, Mr. Little said.

“He was”, I said. “Unfortunately in this instance he was outwitted by the tide of history; he lived until 1708 just after the Act of Union when England and Scotland became one, thus negating the clause in his son's case. Mr. Adonijah was thus able to sell his Scottish lands and return to Berkshire. However, if your son were to inherit the estate and _then_ leave the country he could not inherit even if he returned. Or.....”

I hesitated for effect.

“Or if he left involuntarily”, I said. “Not that he would ever make it out of.... wherever he might or might not be taken. Let us just say that there will be copious amounts of sand.”

The cruel look on the fellow's face was sickening me. I reached into my brief-case and produced some legal papers I had just happened to have had on me.

“That is the only way round your problem”, I said, “although I am afraid that it requires an element of trust on your part. If you revoked your own claim on the estate and forced your son's inheritance, then in barely twelve hours from now he could become disqualified and you would regain control. However I understand that that is a lot to ask....”

“Where do I sign?” he demanded.

֍

“But what will you do when he contacts his lawyers to check up on this?” Watson asked as we drove at a sedate pace back towards Newbury and the train home.

“I have arranged for an actor friend of mine posing as a clerk from the company to call in by chance tomorrow”, I said, “and he will certify all the documents as valid. Mr. Little will also get a reassuring message from him in about a week's time that further checks have shown that his son has indeed quitted the country. He can depart this world in the knowledge that his foul actions have achieved their ends and will then have an eternity looking up from Hell to see how he was duped.”

“What will Tiny do with the estate, I wonder?” Watson asked.

“Campbell was afraid that he would want to live on it”, I said, “but he says that he will sell it and give the money to his mother. He is happy in his life at the moment especially because he trusts Campbell to look after him. He is a child really.”

“Some child!” Watson scoffed. “He is huge!”

“Indeed”, I smiled. “Enough to put the fear of God into anyone – including doctors who meddle with love-potions, perhaps?”

And there it was, another glorious non-pout!

֍

_Postscriptum: Mr. Philip Little did not live long to enjoy his feeling of having disinherited his son, dying less than a month after we had met him. Tiny succeeded to the estate and with the help of some lawyers I put his way was able to sell it and see his mother comfortably set for the rest of her own life, a happy one as she had already found someone much more worthy of her affections and later married them. Her new husband was even accepting of Tiny although as John perhaps correctly remarked, who would not be?_

_The Lambourn Valley Railway was incorporated in 1883, two years after this story is set. Work however proceeded but slowly and it was not until 1900 that the first train ran. The independent company lasted only five years before being compelled to sell out to the Great Western Railway and as of today (1936) the line is struggling against the inevitable competition of the motor-bus. That is the tide of progress, I suppose._

֍


End file.
